


This Dream of Distant Light

by enigmaticblue



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-27
Updated: 2012-06-27
Packaged: 2017-11-08 17:36:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/445741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair’s new advisor doesn’t like his subject of study.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Dream of Distant Light

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Project 4](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/9515) by Debbie Stone. 



> Written for The Sentinel Reverse Bang for 2012, for Debbie Stone’s gorgeous piece. Technically, the Guarani are a large people group with many tribes, but then, the Powers That Be made up the Chopec, so I thought I’d take some liberties.

_“Yesterdays, how quick they change/All lost and gone now./It’s hard to remember anything/Moving at the speed of sound/Moving with the speed of sound./And yet I’m still holding tight/To this dream of distant light/And that somehow I’ll survive.”_ ~Pearl Jam, “Speed of Sound”

 

Blair hears the front door open and braces himself for the explosion he knows is coming.

 

He doesn’t have to wait long.

 

“Where the hell were you today?” Jim demands as he enters.

 

Jim has every right to be angry; Blair had promised to come to the station, and he hadn’t even called.

 

“Jim, I—” Emotion chokes his voice, and Blair pushes the heels of his hands hard into his eyes.

 

The couch dips next to him, and Jim asks softly, “What happened? I was worried when you didn’t show.”

 

Blair takes a deep breath and risks looking at Jim. Whatever anger may have been there is gone now, replaced by concern and a touch of fear. “You remember what I told you about my advisor needing to take an indefinite leave of absence?”

 

Jim nods slowly. “Sure. Cancer, right? You have a new advisor. Dr. K-something.”

 

Blair nods. “I was assigned to Dr. Kaye, who wanted an update on my progress. One thing I’ll say for Dr. Cummings is that he gave me a lot of leeway. That’s why I was scrambling this week—I had to come up with at least an outline of the first chapter and a bibliography.”

 

Understanding begins to dawn on Jim’s face. “You had your meeting this morning. I guess it didn’t go well.”

 

“That’s why you’re the detective,” Blair replies, his mouth twisting up into a bitter smile. “To make a long story short, he read me the riot act, and told me there’s no way he’s ever going to let me submit a dissertation on Sentinels.”

 

Jim frowns. “What? Why? I thought it was a done deal.”

 

“With Dr. Cummings, yeah, but Dr. Kaye—” Blair flushes as he remembers Kaye’s pointed questions, and the sting of the truth. “He had a few not so nice things to say about the fact that I only have one subject, which means no controls, and suggested I was too close to see things clearly. And _then_ , he said since I was doing sensory tests, and I wasn’t strictly an observer, I should have gotten authorization from the IRB, and by not doing so, I was acting unethically.”

 

Kaye had said more than that. He’d called Blair irresponsible, and had questioned whether Blair had been seeing things because he _wanted_ to see them. He’d also suggested that Blair had been postponing writing his dissertation because he’d wanted to eke out his time as a graduate assistant indefinitely before he declared himself ABD.

 

And _then_ he’d said it would be a cold day in hell before Blair defended a dissertation on Sentinels on his watch.

 

“What’s an IRB?” Jim asks.

 

“Institutional Review Board,” Blair explains, closing his eyes. “You’re supposed to get approval prior to any behavioral or biomedical research. Basically, if there’s a human subject, you have to get approval. Normally, anthropologists are strictly observers, so it’s not an issue, but Kaye is of the opinion that you’ve been a test subject, which means I fucked up.”

 

Jim is quiet for a long moment, and then he says, “But you were helping me.”

 

Blair is glad he thinks so, and that Jim trusts him that much, but that just leads to another problem. “And when I told Kaye as much, he questioned my objectivity, and said he didn’t think I could keep your identity secret. And he said that without meeting you, and seeing what you could do, he wouldn’t believe it.”

 

“He accused you of making it all up,” Jim says.

 

“Yeah, he did.” Blair swallows.

 

Jim clears his throat. “What if I talk to him? What if I prove it?”

 

The offer means a lot to Blair, but he’s been thinking about Kaye’s accusations all afternoon, and he’s come to the realization that Kaye was right—at least about some of it. “Thanks, man, but he was right about keeping you anonymous. Kaye halfway guessed who the subject was just from my outline, and I don’t think I can protect you if I publish.”

 

“So, what does this mean?” Jim asks cautiously. “Can you change your dissertation topic?”

 

“Not with Kaye as my advisor. I’m pretty sure he wants me to drop out. And since my funding is up at the end of this semester, and I can’t move ahead with my dissertation, I’m going to be out of a job in a few weeks.”

 

Jim places a careful hand on Blair’s shoulder. “You know—whatever you need, however long you need it. I mean that.”

 

Blair lets out a laugh, although it doesn’t hold much humor. He’s not sure how Jim is going to respond to this next bit of news. “I made some calls. You know Eli Stoddard?”

 

“Your old mentor,” Jim says. “The one who invited you to go to Borneo.”

 

Blair nods. “He has another expedition, this time to Paraguay, and one of his assistants took a sudden leave of absence. Eli said there would be plenty of material for my dissertation if I went with him.”

 

“And you’re going,” Jim says flatly.

 

“I don’t have a choice, man,” Blair protests. “I can’t get my dissertation at Rainier. No way will they let me switch advisors. If I’m going to get my Ph.D., this is my only option. Once I get the data, I can come back here and write it, but I have to go.”

 

“And what happens after you get it?” Jim asks. “Are you going to teach? Are you going to come back here?”

 

That’s something Blair hasn’t given much thought to; his doctorate is the brass ring— _Jim_ is the brass ring. If he writes his dissertation on something other than Sentinels, he’ll get his Ph.D., but at what price?

 

And what is he going to do afterward?

 

“I’ve already said yes,” Blair replies. “Eli needs an assistant, and I have experience. I’ll figure out what I’m going to do next when I get back.”

 

“Of course,” Jim says distantly. “I understand.”

 

Blair doubts that he does. Jim has abandonment issues up the wazoo, and unless Blair stays in Cascade and forgets about getting his doctorate, Jim is going to regard his decision as jumping ship. “Jim—”

 

“The room is yours as long as you want it,” Jim says earnestly, meeting Blair’s eyes. “You can leave whatever you want there; you can leave _anything_ there. It’ll be there for you when you get back.”

 

Blair lets out a breath. Jim is offering absolution, and he wants to take it. “I’m not leaving forever,” he says. “I want to come back. I want—”

 

The truth is, Blair doesn’t know what he wants. Before he’d met Jim, his focus had been on finding a Sentinel and getting his Ph.D. Right now, he doesn’t have a lot of options, but even once he has his credentials, he doesn’t think he’ll be happy in a strictly academic job.

 

Maybe, if he’d had more time to prepare, or if Eli hadn’t found an immediate opening, Blair might have looked for another option. But that’s not the road that lies before him, and he can’t see any other direction to go.

 

“It’s not forever,” he finally says.

 

“It better not be,” Jim replies, and Blair isn’t sure whether his tone is a warning or a promise. “How soon do you have to leave?”

 

“Four weeks,” Blair replies. “I spent the afternoon finding someone to cover me for the end of the semester.”

 

He risks a glance at Jim, whose expression is completely inscrutable. “You need anything, you call,” Jim instructs.

 

“I will,” Blair replies, and he wishes he could make the same promise, but he can’t. He’s not even sure they’ll have access to a satellite phone while in Paraguay, and there’s nothing Blair could do for him from so far away. “Jim, I’m really sorry.”

 

He hears Jim take a deep breath, and then he drapes a warm, heavy arm across Blair’s shoulders. “You gotta do what you gotta do,” he says philosophically.

 

Blair is pretty sure there’s more to it than that. He’s certain that Jim is putting on a good front. Still, there’s not much he can do about it. At least Simon knows about Jim’s senses, and he can fill in the gaps Blair leaves. Jim will probably be glad to have the loft back to himself.

 

In fact, maybe Jim won’t want Blair back at all once he’s used to the quiet again.

 

~~~~~

 

Jim spends the next four weeks keeping up a good front. He knows that Blair hadn’t planned on leaving—and to be honest, Jim had expected something like this to happen eventually. Their deal had always been for Blair to write his dissertation, and Jim had figured Blair would leave afterward. Best-case scenario had been for Blair to get a job at Rainier and stick around.

 

Jim had tried not to think about the worst-case scenario.

 

In truth, Jim wants to be selfish and demand that Blair stay; he might have, except that he could _smell_ how upset Blair had been after that disastrous meeting with his advisor. Blair had the rug pulled out from under him, and Jim isn’t going to add to that burden.

 

Besides, Jim was always going to have to learn how to deal with this Sentinel thing on his own; it’s just happened sooner than expected.

 

Three days before Blair is scheduled to fly to Paraguay, he’s busy packing and getting last minute things together—and he’s too busy to come into the station, which is about par for the course for the last couple of months.

 

“Ellison!” Simon calls from his office. “Get in here!”

 

Jim sighs and hits save on his report before heading into Simon’s office. “You yelled?” Jim asks, hoping that Simon doesn’t dig too deeply.

 

“Close the door,” Simon instructs. When Jim has done so, he asks, “When does Blair leave?”

 

“Three days.”

 

“You going to be okay?”

 

Jim wants to give a glib answer, but he owes Simon the truth, and he says, “I hope so, but I don’t know. Blair’s given me a lot of control, and a lot of tools, so I might be all right.”

 

“And if you’re not?” Simon counters. “Are you going to call him back if you have trouble?”

 

Jim shakes his head. “If it gets that bad, I’ll make other arrangements.”

 

“What kind of arrangements?” Simon asks.

 

“Medical leave of absence, if it comes to that,” Jim explains briefly. “But I don’t think it will.”

 

“You’re going to need a partner, Jim,” Simon insists. “I’m not letting you back out on the street without one.”

 

“And who would you recommend?” Jim asks. “Whoever it is, they have to know about my senses, and I don’t know who I can trust for that.”

 

“Joel?” Simon suggests. “He’s transferring back here, and I think he already suspects something is up. He’s trustworthy, and he won’t let you get too carried away.”

 

Joel isn’t Blair, but he’s a good guy, and Jim trusts him. He can’t even argue with the necessity of having a partner. The last thing Jim needs is to zone in the middle of an operation without anybody there to pull him out.

 

He’s just going to have to be a little more cautious until he knows he can do okay without Blair around.

 

“That will do,” Jim agrees. “Maybe we can tell him together.”

 

“Just let me know what you need, Jim, and I’ll do my best,” Simon says. “I don’t want to lose my best detective.”

 

“You won’t if I can help it,” Jim promises. “When does Joel start back here?”

 

“In a couple of weeks,” Simon replies. “And until then, I’m putting you on school duty.”

 

Jim winces. “Come on, Simon.”

 

“The mayor has been pushing me to designate someone to go around to the schools in the area to talk about staying off drugs and in school, and you’re down a partner,” Simon says implacably. “Besides, I’ve seen you with kids. You’re not nearly as bad with them as you pretend to be.”

 

“That reputation usually keeps me away from jobs like that,” Jim points out.

 

“Too bad I know you so well,” Simon replies. “You’ve cleared most of your current cases, so you’ve got the time, and the mayor will be thrilled with your service.”

 

“I’ve got that deposition in the Carl case coming up,” Jim points out. “And testimony in a couple of other cases.”

 

“The schools will work around your schedule,” Simon says with a smile. “I’ll let them know you’ll be calling them to set things up.”

 

Jim knows he isn’t going to get out of it, and really, the idea of speaking to a bunch of kids about staying off drugs and in school has its own appeal.

 

“Thank you, sir,” Jim says, with only a touch of sarcasm. “Send me the information, and I’ll make the calls.”

 

“And then you can take the next couple of days off,” Simon orders. “You’re more than due, and I know you probably want to spend some time with the kid before he leaves town. How long is he going to be gone?”

 

Jim shrugs. “At least six months, maybe up to a year.”

 

“All the more reason to take time off,” Simon replies. “So, go home.”

 

Jim knows better than to protest when Simon is in this frame of mind. Besides, Blair’s Volvo is giving him trouble, and he’ll probably appreciate the services of a chauffer.

 

“Thank you, Simon,” he says dutifully.

 

Jim makes a few phone calls, setting up times to go to the list of schools Simon has emailed. Blair is probably going to kick himself for missing it, both because he likes kids, and because he’d have his own spin on the usual spiel.

 

From there, he gives a heads-up to Rhonda and a few other people before heading home. He notices the sidelong looks from the other detectives, as though they’re waiting for him to go off the rails now that Blair is leaving.

 

He’s not sure whether to be insulted or amused. He’d been a damn fine detective before the senses, and before Blair—but he’d been a better one with his partner, that was for sure.

 

When Jim enters the loft, it looks like a hurricane has been through, and he heaves a purely internal sigh.

 

“Sorry, Jim!” Blair calls from his bedroom. “I’ll clean it up!”

 

Jim grunts in lieu of a response, both unwilling to pick a fight and unwilling to excuse the mess. He doesn’t want to let on how much he’s going to miss Blair—including the ubiquitous clutter.

 

“You’re home early,” Blair says, poking his head out of his room.

 

“Simon pointed out that I had a lot of vacation time socked away,” Jim replies, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. “And I know your car is on the fritz.”

 

Blair grimaces. “Yeah, it is. There are a couple of errands I need to run. I was hoping—”

 

“I don’t mind driving,” Jim says easily. “No problem.”

 

Jim is used to hiding his emotions, and keeping his thoughts to himself. He doesn’t want Blair to leave, but he can’t ask him to stay. And Jim isn’t willing to reveal how deeply he feels the upcoming separation.

 

And it’s partly selfish, because Jim doesn’t want Blair to know how much he’s come to rely on him, and it’s partly unselfish because he wants Blair to be happy, and getting his doctorate will make Blair happy.

 

Blair fills the silence between them with chatter, and Jim lets it wash over him. He knows by now how to tell when Blair is saying something Jim _needs_ to hear, and when he’s just trying to fill the quiet.

 

It’s not until they’re heading back to the loft—after a trip to the pharmacy, the organic grocery store, and a side trip for Thai food—that Blair asks hesitantly, “Did Simon talk to you about getting another partner?”

 

“Joel’s transferring to Major Crimes,” Jim replies. “Simon thinks he’ll be able to keep me out of trouble.”

 

Blair laughs, but it has a hollow sound. “Good. That’s good. I thought he might try to partner you with Megan.”

 

“I doubt Simon wants bloodshed in the bullpen,” Jim replies with a smirk.

 

“You know, she’s not so bad,” Blair protests.

 

Jim shakes his head. “Give it up, Chief. We both want to be in charge too much to work together.”

 

“Well, I’m glad there’s someone replacing me,” Blair insists. “You need someone to watch your back.”

 

“He’s not replacing you,” Jim snaps, and then modulates his tone. “He’s just filling in until you get back.”

 

“And if I can’t come back?” Blair asks quietly. “I might not be able to get a job here.”

 

Jim grips the steering wheel tightly enough to turn his knuckles white, biting back the first response that comes to mind—that Blair could do whatever he damn well pleased because he doesn’t owe Jim anything.

 

It would be so easy to burn this bridge, to say something he’ll regret that will result in a fight and the end of their relationship, or at least a breach that can’t be healed.

 

And for once in his life, Jim doesn’t want to cut contact; he doesn’t want to take the easy way out. He’s known all along that Blair would someday leave, but right now, he wants Blair to know he can come back.

 

“I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” He’s proud of how even his voice is, and Jim thinks he can hold it together until Blair is gone.

 

Blair swallows audibly. “It’s not that I don’t _want_ to come back. It’s just that the situation with Kaye—I don’t know if I _can_.”

 

He sounds a little desperate, a little afraid, and Jim suddenly realizes that Blair is as afraid to leave as Jim is to let him go. Maybe it’s because Blair has left a lot of places without a ripple to mark his absence, and he thinks Jim’s just going to forget him.

 

No chance of that.

 

“Sandburg,” he growls. “I told you—that’s your room, and you do what you gotta do. When your research is done, you come back. And if you can’t come back—” He turns to look at Blair. “We’ll deal with it then.”

 

Blair’s gaze turns searching, and then he relaxes into a real smile. “Okay. I _will_ come back, Jim.”

 

Jim doesn’t know if he believes Blair, but he can accept that Blair believes what he’s saying.

 

For now, that has to be enough.

 

~~~~~

 

Blair meets Eli in Luque with only a backpack and a duffel bag to cover his needs for the next year. Leaving Cascade had been harder than Blair anticipated, even though Jim had been stoic right up until the last goodbye. He’d hugged Blair tightly, slapped him on the back, and wished him luck.

 

But Blair can’t take offense when he knows that any time he goes back to Cascade, his room will be exactly as he left it; Jim had promised as much.

 

It’s strange to know he still has a home to go back to.

 

Blair spots Eli immediately after getting off the plane, and a large grin crosses the older man’s face. “Blair, my boy!” he calls. “Look at you!”

 

“Look at _you_ ,” Blair replies admiringly. His mentor doesn’t seem to have aged a day. His silver hair and beard frames a tan, weathered face, and his teeth are a bright flash as he grins. “You go straight from Borneo to Paraguay!”

 

“The language opportunities here!” Eli responds. “And I know you’ve been interested in oral histories. You might even find something about those sentinels of yours.”

 

Blair winces at the reminder. “Maybe, but I think that has to be relegated to the realm of a hobby.”

 

Eli gives him a reproving look. “I did warn you, Blair.”

 

“You did,” Blair agrees. “But I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

Eli nods. “Then I will say no more. You’ll have no problem getting enough material for a dissertation on this trip. There are eighteen reported languages, not including Spanish, and a number of people groups that have had very limited contact with the Western world.”

 

And then Eli is off, describing their study, but Blair has heard it already when he’d first called Eli. While Blair likes Eli, and respects him a great deal, he also knows that Eli likes to talk, and he tends to repeat himself—a lot.

 

It’s going to take some getting used to, being around someone who talks more than he does. Jim is usually content to let Blair jabber on, whereas Eli is the one who likes to fill up the silences.

 

Eli continues to talk as he leads the way to a Land Rover, and then as they rattle on down a relatively well-paved road.

 

The pavement soon gives way to dirt, and the rainforest crowds the road on either side. The humid air causes Blair’s shirt to stick to his back, and he can feel the hot sun even through the foliage that shades the road.

 

Eli finally says, “I haven’t asked you how you’re doing. I know how upsetting it must have been to suddenly find yourself with a new, unsympathetic advisor.”

 

“It was disconcerting,” Blair admits. “I hadn’t planned on leaving Cascade.”

 

“I can’t help but assume that you had a good reason to stay there,” Eli probes.

 

Blair shrugs, still not willing to give up Jim’s secrets, even to Eli. “I had friends.”

 

“And a sentinel?”

 

Blair shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. I lost my objectivity; Kaye was right about that much.”

 

“It’s funny,” Eli muses. “A good anthropologist must connect with his subjects in order to truly understand their lives. And yet, we must always remain separate from those we study.”

 

“Yeah, it’s a fine line,” Blair replies, and thinks of all the ways he’d failed to do that with Jim.

 

He doesn’t regret it, though, not even a little.

 

“There’s no shame in losing our objectivity,” Eli says suddenly. “Sometimes such a loss leads us down a road we hadn’t anticipated, but it’s where we’re meant to be.”

 

Blair knows that Eli’s words are meant to be a comfort, but they’re not. Instead, he has the sinking feeling that he’s missed his path.

 

**Six Months Later**

 

Jim parks the truck in front of his building and pinches the bridge of his nose. The migraine that’s been threatening all day is blossoming behind his eyes in full force now. His stomach roils, and he swallows convulsively, trying to keep the nausea at bay.

 

Breathing through his nose helps, and Jim rests his forehead against the steering wheel. It had been a long day, made longer by the interrogation of a subject who had only a passing acquaintance with hygiene and a passionate love for garlic and curry. Trying to keep his senses dialed down had only made matters worse.

 

And that’s the story of his life recently.

 

He’s begun to think of his senses as something separate from himself, like a wild animal, untamed and largely outside his control. If he’d been inclined to share his current predicament with Blair, Jim might have called him the Sentinel whisperer, since things had been a hell of a lot easier with him around.

 

Blair would get a kick out of the title, but Jim has no intention of sharing that tidbit. Blair’s most recent letter had indicated he’d have to spend at least another three months in Paraguay, and Jim isn’t about to let on how bad things had gotten.

 

Once Jim is sure he’s not going to lose his lunch all over the sidewalk, he climbs wearily out of his truck and locks it behind him. He’s hoping that a good night’s sleep—assuming he _can_ sleep—will chase the migraine away.

 

He collects his mail and flips idly through the envelopes, mostly consisting of junk and bills, but there’s a battered, dirt-stained letter addressed to Jim in Blair’s familiar handwriting.

 

Jim holds his emotions and senses tightly in check until he’s inside the loft and the door is locked behind him. He sinks down onto the couch and carefully opens the envelope. Now that he’s home, Jim can relax his guard a little bit. He studies the cramped handwriting and catches the scent of earth and ink. If he closes his eyes, Jim can see Blair hunched over the letter, the lantern light reflecting off his glasses.

 

With that image firmly in mind, Jim begins reading. As usual, it’s filled with observations of the people, descriptions of the food, and a bit about a recent discovery of temple ruins. And, as usual, Blair doesn’t say much about how he’s really doing right up until the end, when he closes the letter as he always does—with an estimate of how much longer he’s going to be in Paraguay, and a simple, “Wish you were here, or I was there.”

 

The letters come irregularly, since they’re dependent on the supply runs, and the people who may or may not be inclined to post the letter in a timely fashion. In some ways, Jim likes that there’s no set pattern, because getting a letter from Blair is always a pleasant surprise.

 

And for some reason, Jim always feels better after hearing from Blair. The migraine hasn’t receded far enough to allow him to eat, but he thinks he might be able to sleep.

 

Without thinking about it too much, he gets ready for bed and tucks the letter under his pillow.

 

That night, Jim sleeps like a baby.

 

~~~~~

 

Blair puts the finishing touches on his most recent journal entry. As Eli had suggested, the Guarani people have stories of sentinels, although no one will admit to having one now. The tribal elders keep insisting that with encroaching civilization, the tribal guardians had passed on to the next realm.

 

“Guardians dwell apart with their guides,” the elders had told him. “And their day is gone now.”

 

Blair suspects that the tribe still has a guardian; the elders seem all too aware of things going on just outside their usual territory, and they always have game enough to share. Blair knows enough to know that’s not typical for the people of the area.

 

Blair can’t blame the Guarani for their caution—that’s not what bothers him. What’s eating at him is what the shaman, Paulito, had said to him. He’d grabbed Blair’s arm as Blair left the council group about four months into his stay and had said, “You have left your true path, shaman. You have left half your heart behind.”

 

He certainly feels as though he’s left half his heart in Cascade, but Blair keeps telling himself that it’s only a few more months. He tries not to think about how he lives for Jim’s letters, which tend to come two or three at a time every couple of months.

 

Jim doesn’t say much—which isn’t anything new, but he usually ends with, “Miss you, Chief.”

 

And every time Blair sees that one line, he’s warmed and terribly homesick.

 

“Blair?” Eli calls from outside his tent. “Can I come in?”

 

“Sure,” Blair replies, trying to infuse some enthusiasm into his voice.

 

Eli lowers himself onto the other end of Blair’s bedroll. “I’m getting too old for this, I think.”

 

“Never,” Blair says automatically. “You’re still young at heart.”

 

“These old bones tell a different story,” Eli replies. “But I want to ask you, what happened to your enthusiasm?”

 

Blair blinks. “I don’t know what you mean.”

 

“You have always had a passion for your subject of study, and a delight in the world around you,” Eli replies.

 

“If you’re not happy with my work—” Blair begins, only to be cut off.

 

“No one can fault your work,” Eli says quickly. “But the light has gone out of your eyes, my boy. You’re not happy here.”

 

Blair glances away, swallowing against the emotion that threatens to choke him. “I love these people.”

 

“And they have opened up to you in ways they have not to me,” Eli agrees. “But Paulito spoke to me the other day and asked me why I keep you here, when your heart is clearly elsewhere.”

 

Blair wants to protest that Paulito shouldn’t have said anything, but there’s a part of him that’s relieved it’s out in the open.

 

“Let me ask you this,” Eli says, leaning forward, his faded gray eyes intent on Blair’s face. “Should you get your doctorate, would you be willing to go on expeditions year after year for months at a time? Can you be happy always leaving your friend behind?”

 

Blair opens his mouth, and then closes it again. The truth—which he hasn’t been willing to face until now—is a most decided no. The thought of never returning to Cascade hurts; the idea of going back to Cascade only to leave again is just as bad, if not worse.

 

The truth is that Blair misses Jim—and he misses police work. He had anticipated the former, but not the latter.

 

“No,” Blair admits. “But Eli—”

 

“You have enough information for your dissertation,” Eli says. “The subject of shamanism in the modern world is interesting and relevant. I know you’ve been speaking to Paulito extensively, and you’ll have the chance to contact other Native peoples in Washington— _if_ you choose to finish.”

 

“What other option is there?” Blair demands.

 

Eli shakes his head. “Blair, there are times when we remake our lives to fit our goals, and times when we remake our goals to fit our lives. You will not be happy in academia, unless you are prepared to spend most of your time in the field. You’ll find an outlet for your energies, whatever that might be, but do not settle for anything less than what will bring you happiness.”

 

Blair nods slowly. “I have to go back to Cascade.”

 

“I think it wise,” Eli agrees. “I will somehow manage without you for a couple of months. There’s another supply run in two days. You’ll go back with them.”

 

It’s not a question, and Blair is actually relieved to have the decision taken out of his hands so neatly.

 

He’ll be back in Cascade by the end of the week, and back with Jim. He can decide where to go from there.

 

~~~~~

 

The weekly briefing seems interminable. Stuck inside a conference room with his fellow detectives, Jim is distracted by Connor’s perfume, Rafe and Henri’s cologne, and the onions someone ate for lunch. Even the smell of Simon’s cigars is bugging him, and Jim has long since relegated that odor to little more than white noise.

 

Joel, bless him, has been avoiding wearing any kind of scent, and he’s careful not to eat strong-smelling foods in the middle of the day. Granted, Joel isn’t Blair, but he’s tried hard to be considerate of Jim’s needs.

 

Jim had actually been a little surprised at how _not_ surprised Joel had been when he and Simon had told him about the senses. Joel had just nodded and said, “I figured it had to be something,” and that had been that.

 

It’s just too bad that it takes Joel twice as long to pull Jim out of a zone than it took Blair, which is why Jim has tried to keep his senses dialed down to normal as much as possible.

 

“All right,” Simon says, ending the meeting. “Jim, you stay.”

 

Jim sighs. “Yes, sir.”

 

Joel pats him on the shoulder, and the others give Jim a sympathetic look as they file out.

 

Jim isn’t sure what they think about Blair leaving, but he can’t miss their concern, as though they’re not entirely sure that Jim can get by without Blair, even if they don’t understand why.

 

Honestly, _Jim_ isn’t sure how he’s getting by without Blair, and he doesn’t know how he’s going to do this long term.

 

“Joel tells me you’re not doing so well,” Simon says when Joel closes the door, leaving them alone in the conference room. “Maybe you should take some time off.”

 

“I’ve taken enough time off lately,” Jim protests.

 

“For migraines,” Simon replies. “Jim, I’m speaking as your friend right now, not your captain, and I’m telling you—you look like shit. Are you sleeping? Eating?”

 

“When I can,” Jim says. “I’m okay. I’ll _be_ okay.”

 

“You’ve got the weekend,” Simon replies. “Get some rest. And if you’re not feeling better by Monday, call in sick. You have sick time to burn, and Joel’s been covering for you enough.”

 

Jim winces, but he’s tremendously grateful to Joel, who’s been a good friend through this entire process.

 

Joel looks up as Jim enters the bullpen. “Everything okay?” he asks.

 

Jim nods. “Yeah. Do we have anything else lined up?”

 

“Nah. Go home, Jim,” Joel replies. “I’ll finish up this report.”

 

“You’re a saint,” Jim replies.

 

Joel waves him off, and Jim heads home, wondering if there’s any way he can manage to sleep the entire weekend. He’s tired enough, but he suspects staying unconscious that long is a pipe dream.

 

As he climbs the stairs to the loft—the elevator is out again—Jim realizes that he can hear the sound of a heartbeat from inside. Jim draws his gun and tries the knob, and the door swings open without a sound.

 

“Jim?”

 

Jim stops just inside the door, thinking maybe he’s hallucinating. “Blair?”

 

Blair emerges from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, wearing only his boxers. “Hey, man. I wasn’t expecting you home so soon, or I would have been dressed.”

 

“ _Blair_?” Jim asks incredulously, slowly holstering his gun.

 

“I came back early,” Blair replies hesitantly. “I hope that’s okay.”

 

Jim doesn’t think—he can’t think. He’s been acting on instinct for the last seven months, ever since Blair left, just getting through each day as best he could.

 

So, he doesn’t consider his actions; he just steps forward, puts his hands on either side of Blair’s face, and kisses him.

 

Blair freezes for a moment, and then his hands grip Jim’s shoulders, and he kisses Jim back, his clever tongue as arousing as Jim would have suspected if he’d allowed himself to think of it.

 

Breaking off the kiss, Blair says, “Okay, not that I mind the welcome, but that was unexpected. You okay?”

 

“I missed you,” Jim replies simply. “I didn’t think you’d be back for another couple of months.”

 

“It turns out that field work doesn’t hold the allure it once did,” Blair replies with a smile. “Although if I’d known that was the welcome I’d get, I would have come back a lot sooner.”

 

Jim kisses him again, just because he can, because Blair doesn’t seem to mind. “Why did you come back early?”

 

“Eli pointed out that my heart wasn’t in it, and I had to agree,” Blair replies. “Let me get some clothes on, and we can talk about it.”

 

Jim smiles. “Do we have to?”

 

Blair chuckles, and the sound goes straight to Jim’s groin. “I think we should probably talk before we do anything else.”

 

Jim takes a deep breath and steps back. “Sure.”

 

Blair’s gaze turns searching. “What changed, Jim?”

 

“They say absence makes the heart grow fonder,” Jim jokes, unable to quite articulate what it meant to have Blair gone.

 

Blair seems to understand, though, because he says, “The shaman of the tribe we were studying said that I’d left half my heart behind. He was right.”

 

Jim swallows past the lump in his throat and says, “If you have to leave again, I’m going with you.”

 

He’d intended to frame it as a question, not a statement, but he means every word, and he can’t take it back.

 

“Funny, I was about to tell you I was staying,” Blair says lightly. “Although I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

 

“You’ve got time to figure it out,” Jim insists. “ _We_ have time.”

 

“I guess we do.” Blair grins brilliantly. “Okay, so we can talk later.”

 

That’s the only permission that Jim needs to kiss Blair again, and Jim lets go for the first time in months. With Blair here, Jim’s senses feel sharp again, controllable, and Jim knows he won’t give that up.

 

Well, he won’t give _Blair_ up. Controlling his senses is just a nice side benefit.

 

“You’re overdressed,” Blair mutters against Jim’s mouth. “And we need a bed, because I’ve been looking forward to a mattress for _months_ , man.”

 

Jim laughs. “Yeah, that can be arranged. Your bed is closer, but mine is bigger.”

 

“I’ll take bigger for two-hundred, Alex,” Blair quips.

 

Jim feels dizzy with Blair’s scent, dizzy with his sharpened senses—dizzy because everything is working for the first time in months. All Jim wants right now is to glut his senses on Blair. He wavers a bit, unsteady on his feet.

 

“Okay, I don’t think you’re up to navigating the stairs right now,” Blair says. “Come on.”

 

He leads Jim to his bedroom, one hand under Jim’s elbow to steady him. Jim has kept Blair’s room dust-free over the last months, and he knows the sheets on the bed are clean because he’d washed them, although he can’t explain the impulse.

 

“You okay?” Blair asks as soon as Jim is sitting down. “You looked unsteady there.”

 

“I’ve had everything dialed down,” Jim explains. “And it all snapped back into place.”

 

Blair frowns. “Maybe I should put some clothes on.”

 

“I’m fine now that you’re here,” Jim insists, because he hasn’t gotten his fill of Blair yet. “Come _on_.”

 

Blair’s wearing what Jim thinks of as his Guide expression—looking for any trouble Jim might be having and figuring out what to do about it. “Okay,” Blair agrees, and then pulls Jim’s polo shirt up over his head.

 

Jim loses the rest of his clothes in short order, and he’s overwhelmed with sensations—so many that he’s in no danger of zoning. And Blair’s talking the whole time, filling Jim’s ears with the sound of his voice, and Jim can believe that Blair is really here, really with him, and his whole world narrows until there’s nothing but Blair—Blair’s throaty laughter, Blair’s hand on his cock, the smell of his shampoo, the rich colors of his hair, the taste of Blair’s mouth.

 

It’s been a long seven months, and Jim comes a lot sooner than he’d intended; it’s some consolation that Blair is only half a second behind.

 

“God, Jim,” Blair murmurs, resting his forehead against Jim’s shoulder. “That was quite the welcome home.”

 

“Let me guess, you didn’t think I had it in me?” Jim asks lightly, hearing Blair’s racing heartbeat. His own heart is beating double time, too.

 

Blair raises his head. “Nah, man. I knew you had it in you. I just didn’t think you swung this way.”

 

Jim threads his fingers through Blair’s hair. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Sandburg.”

 

“Then it’s a good thing I have plenty of time to study up,” Blair replies with a hopeful smile. “Maybe even a lifetime.”

 

Jim smiles. “That sounds like it might almost be long enough.” 


End file.
